


Three Cakes

by complexhero



Category: RWBY
Genre: Banter, Cooking Lessons, Established Relationship, Fluff, I have become a parody of myself, M/M, OT3, Secret Dancing Monkey, Spice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/complexhero/pseuds/complexhero
Summary: Clover is excellent at baking. His two boyfriends...are not. But no matter. After Clover's Cake Corner, a six-week intensive course on cakes, cake assembly, and cake decoration, even these two gorgeous kitchen disasters will be whipping eggs and slinging frosting with the best of them.At least, that was the plan. Hormones, semblances, and leftover pizza all get in the way. But rest assured: Clover is determined, James is clueless, and Qrow will lick anything. Together, they bake cake.
Relationships: Clover Ebi/James Ironwood, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi/James Ironwood, Qrow Branwen/James Ironwood
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	Three Cakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elzierav](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elzierav/gifts).



> Here you go elzzzzzzz!!!!!!!! Is it three dumb himbos (trying) to bake cake? You bet it is. 
> 
> There, uh...may be a spicy sequel in the works.
> 
> Part of the Secret Dancing Monkey fic exchange.

Clover bounced on the balls of his feet, his arms clasped behind his back as he regarded the new recruits. He could barely contain his excitement. Here it was. Weeks of preparation. Countless hours of research and development. A pilot program tested on his entire team. Finally, _finally_ , it was all about to pay off.

“Welcome, students, to the first ever Clover’s Cake Corner. I hope you both reviewed the class materials I sent out yesterday.”

James obediently pulled up his notes on his scroll. Qrow snorted.

“Nerd,” he said.

James looked offended. “I simply like to be prepared, Qrow.”

Clover assessed the situation. He could work with this. The simulation (aka Vine, in another uncannily stellar acting performance) had prepared him for this possibility.

He was going to teach these gorgeous men how to bake a cake.

“Qrow, if you don’t have your notes you can follow along with James. Today we’ll be baking a dead simple one-bowl chocolate cake. You don’t even need a mixer for this. So first we’re going to take—”

“What’s that for, then?” Qrow pointed at the stand mixer he’d lugged over from his apartment.

Clover blinked. “It’s for the frosting. But you don’t _have_ to make the frosting that we’re making today. In fact, you could just sprinkle a little powdered sugar on top and that would be great!”

“If you’d read the notes, Qrow, you’d know that.” James said, with a smug look. “Section five-point-two, _‘Accompaniments and alternative finishes.’_ ”

“Excellent, James!” Clover said, beaming. “You get a gold star.”

He leaned over and kissed the older man’s cheek. Positive reinforcement was key. And James was so cute.

“Teacher’s pet,” Qrow grumbled.

“Aww, you want a kiss too, pretty bird?”

Qrow raised an eyebrow. “You kiss all your students, teach?”

“Only the cute ones,” Clover said, with a wink. Qrow was _also_ exceptionally cute.

The shapeshifter huffed, crossing his arms. A faint blush colored his cheeks. Bingo.

“Now,” Clover said, satisfied that he’d established the proper authority as cake expert and dispenser of sweet kisses, “When I bake I find it helpful to set a positive intention for the day. Think of the person you’re baking this cake for. So for example, I’m baking this cake for my boyfriends, who both deserve nice things and who also look really hot eating cake. James, who are you baking your cake for?”

James blinked. “I…was also going to bake the cake for us.”

“You were?”

“Of course,” James said, reaching across the counter and taking his hand. He placed his other on Qrow’s shoulder. His eyes shone with affection as he spoke. “There’s no one else I’d rather bake for.”

Clover’s heart clenched in his chest. Across the counter, Qrow looked equally affected. The Huntsman stared at James, wide-eyed, his usual sarcasm cut down by the earnest love pouring off of their boyfriend.

Well. This would not do.

Clover shook his head. “Nuh-uh, pick someone else. _My_ cake is for us.”

James sputtered. “Someone… _Clover!”_

“Part of today’s goal is to put your baking efforts out into the world. Qrow and I are not the world.”

“What if you’re _my_ world?”

“You sap,” Qrow muttered, averting his gaze. His blush was bright red at this point. And as much as Clover enjoyed watching Qrow blush, they had _goals_.

“My point exactly. I think all three of us know that one of these cakes is going to get absolutely wrecked as soon as we’re done here, and I would prefer that you both have the opportunity to share your spoils with others. I bake all the time; my cake can be the sacrifice to the depravity that is about to occur.”

He’d thought a lot about this. Clover could have all the goals in the world, but he still had to face the reality that was James and Qrow in little aprons with cartoon vegetables drawn on them. Namely, that it was extremely hot. His own apron had been a gift from Elm, except where it normally read _KISS THE COOK,_ she’d crossed out _KISS_ in permanent marker and written in _FUCK._ The woman knew him too well.

“I would consider it a _necessary_ sacrifice,” James countered. “One I’d be glad to make.”

“Oh, suck it up, Jimmy,” Qrow sighed. “Cloves, mine’s for the girls. Obviously. Since I have to make this stupid thing, it should at least go to someone who’ll enjoy it.”

“Qrow, I think that’s _wonderful_ ,” Clover said, grinning. “Gold star!”

He leaned in to kiss Qrow’s cheek. But instead of the innocent peck he’d intended, Qrow turned his head and brought their mouths together. The older man caught him by the front of the apron, holding him in place. Clover felt the scratch of stubble against his skin, a sharp contrast with the gentle press of soft lips against his. He couldn’t help but sigh into the kiss, opening up to Qrow’s insistent tongue. He tasted like sugar and coffee, and a hint of butterscotch from the hard caramels he liked to suck on.

“What was that you were saying about depravity?” Qrow murmured, against him.

Clover took a moment to redirect his thoughts. “Um,” he said, catching his breath. _His_ cheeks felt a bit warm.

“Well, I don’t think _my_ gold star had quite so much polish on it,” James said. A playful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I can polish you off, if you need,” Qrow said, giving him a sly look.

Clover cleared his throat. This was getting distracting. And they hadn’t even _started_ baking.

“Gentlemen, please,” he said. He righted himself, taking an authoritative stance. “It’s not a competition.”

“It’s not my fault you sat me next to the hottest guy in class,” Qrow said, gesturing to James.

James leaned in. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.”

“You know,” Qrow said. “If I’d known we were gonna roleplay I would’ve tried to dig up an old Beacon uniform.”

“I could find you an Atlas one,” James offered, brightening.

Qrow made a face. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in those stuffy things. I’d rather not wear anything.”

“Hmm, that would be a uniform violation. I’m afraid the punishment for that is—“

“We are not roleplaying! This is a legitimate cooking lesson.” Clover crossed his arms. “Are you two going to take this seriously, or are you just going to fuck around?”

Qrow and James exchanged glances.

“I think we were seriously going to fuck. Does that answer your question?”

Clover raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Later. James, your cake?”

James’s face softened. “I…suppose it should go to Oscar. Don’t you think?”

“I think he’d like that,” Qrow replied. The two men shared a vaguely paternal look, and Clover’s heart melted like a warm chocolate chip cookie. “Heh, though once Nora gets to it, it might not last long.”

Oh, gods. He hadn’t thought of that. They were gonna need a bigger pan.

Clover flicked his lucky pin, which he’d attached to the strap of his apron. “Excellent. Well, with our intentions set, let’s bake. If you both could turn to section one?”

James raised his hand. “Darling, I believe section one is titled, ‘ _Before You Bake.’”_

Qrow snorted.

“James, now you _are_ being a teacher’s pet, and while I’m into it big time there’s no need to be pedantic. We start with the pre-start.”

James looked mildly disturbed by the break in protocol. A curl of worry formed in the back of Clover’s mind. This hadn’t come up in testing. Perhaps the chain of command had kept Vine from fully dunking on their commanding officer.

But there was nothing to do except press on. Clover talked them through the initial steps: preheating the oven, measuring ingredients, and preparing their baking pans.

“No use making the batter until you know where you’re going to put it,” Clover said, raising a finger wisely. “You’ve gotta have your vessel ready.”

James furrowed his brow as he attempted to brush a perfectly even coating of butter in his cake pan. Qrow went right for using his hands, a man after his own heart. Procuring enough equipment to make three cakes simultaneously had been a bit of a challenge, but Clover felt it was important for each of his students to take full ownership of the baking process. It also allowed him to purchase an ungodly amount of equipment from a Mantle restaurant supply store.

Equipment that Qrow was deathly afraid of.

“Fuck, I think I broke this,” Qrow muttered, as the display on the scale went blank. Clover checked the offending item.

“Just needs a new battery,” Clover said, with a wave of his hand. “I have backups.”

He changed the battery quickly, then set Qrow’s bowl back over the scale. The display flickered to life, then promptly died again. Qrow scrubbed a hand through his hair, letting out a noise of frustration. He left a streak of flour on his temple.

“I’m no good at this, Cloves,” Qrow muttered. “This is why I don’t fucking bake.”

“Nope,” Clover said, wiping the flour from the other man’s brow. “You don’t bake, which is why you’re not good at it. Practice makes perfect, Qrow. Can’t get good at something if you never try.”

“Or if you break the equipment,” Qrow muttered.

“Lucky you, your hot boyfriend’s scale plugs in,” Clover said, retrieving the cord from his box of equipment. He made a little wish for good measure as he plugged in the scale. Seconds later, Qrow was back on track. Just in time for him to help James.

“James, baby, you’re twinkling.”

“…I’m what?”

“Twinkling. You’re using little tiny movements, but you need to put your wrist into it or it’ll never mix up properly. You don’t have to be so gentle.”

Clover leaned over his boss, wrapping his hand around James’s metal one as it gripped the whisk. He held the bowl with his other hand and guided James into mixing his batter in tight but decisive circles. James’s cheeks went faintly pink.

“Yeah, Jimmy, put your wrist into it,” Qrow smirked.

“Qrow, I think we all know I’m no slouch in that department,” James replied. “Is this better?”

“Perfect,” Clover said, kissing him on the temple. And then Qrow, for good measure. The sight of them both mixing cake batter, under his direction no less, was absolutely getting filed away in a folder of special memories in the back of his mind titled ‘ _For Clover Ebi’s eyes only.’_

“I should have known you wanted it rougher,” James murmured, with a smile. Next to him, Qrow snorted in amusement.

“I can’t believe you’ve never baked a cake before,” Clover said, shaking his head. Qrow, he could understand. Between his childhood and his semblance, baking was an understandable challenge. But James? Wasn’t baking a cake something kids did for fun? Especially kids whose parents were actually _nice_ , rather than relentless disciplinarians who thought excessive dessert would spoil children into stupidity?

“I suppose I’ve always just been able to outsource these types of things,” James said, as he carefully poured his batter into the prepared cake pan.

“Ahhhh, but this is the best part,” Clover said. “Now we get to lick the bowl.”

He swiped his finger through a streak of cake batter in the discarded mixing bowl. A glossy dollop of chocolate gathered on the side of his finger. He held it in front of James, triumphant.

“See? When you’re the baker you get all these little extra—“

James leaned forward and sucked the batter from his hand. Deep blue eyes looked up at him, playful and teasing. Clover’s mouth fell open.

Qrow raised his hand. “Sorry, I heard ‘lick.’ Is that in the instructions, or…?”

James offered a finger of batter to Qrow. “I’m so sorry, Qrow. I didn’t mean to impede on your territory. By all means…”

The scene that unfolded before him was…okay, it was a fantasy. A very specific fantasy, involving these two very specific men. And oddly, this specific cake batter. Clover was a very detail-oriented person.

“Hmm, you may have a point, Clover,” James said. He held the spatula out to Qrow, a dark look in his eyes. “I suppose I can’t buy this experience. Not in Atlas, at least.”

“That’s why this Kingdom is boring,” Qrow said. “Everything’s legal in Mistral.”

He punctuated the point by licking a long stripe up the flat side of the spatula, letting out a pleased moan at the taste. He wrapped his hands around James’s at the base of the utensil, pulling it in closer so he could thoroughly clean it with his tongue. Clover watched, driven to distraction by that skilled mouth. He started wondering if Qrow could fit the whole thing in there.

The spatula finally clean—well actually, significantly dirtier considering what had just been done to it—Qrow and James both turned to him.

“What’s next?” Qrow asked, a wicked look in his eye.

“Uhhhhh,” Clover said.

The cakes could wait. That was why this recipe was so great. The double-acting baking powder meant that the cake didn’t need to immediately go into the oven in order to get a chemical—

Well. A reaction. One of which Clover was having right now. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, sweating. Gods, it was warm in here, wasn’t it? It almost felt like someone had lit an actual…

Fire.

Clover sniffed the air. Yep.

“What’s burning?!” he said, panicking. “The cake’s not in. All I did was preheat the oven.”

“Did you take the pizza out?” James asked.

Qrow frowned, sensing the smoke as well. “What pizza?”

“From last night?”

“You put it in the _oven?”_ Clover said, aghast.

He scrambled to grab a few kitchen towels, yanking the oven door open. If he wasn’t so distracted and sex-stupid he might have anticipated the plume of smoke that greeted him. He coughed, shielding his face with his elbow and batting at the flames.

“Shit!” he said. There was smoke everywhere. He couldn’t believe the fire alarm hadn’t gone off.

A good couple whacks with a wad of towels were enough to smother the burning cardboard, and he was able to pull out the smoldering remains. He threw the entire oven grate, carbonized pizza and all, into the sink and turned on the faucet. James and Qrow looked on in shock.

The fire alarm went off.

All three of them flinched at the piercing wail of the alarm, before jumping into action. Clover and Qrow started throwing open windows and doors, fanning the air to disperse the smoke. James pulled out his scroll and frantically tried to override the alarm.

“Got it,” James said. The alarm silenced. “There, that should—“

The sprinkler system activated, dousing them all.

Qrow looked from the smoking oven to them, stricken, then started edging toward the window.

“Qrow, wait!” Clover called, then doubled over coughing. Brothers, the last thing they needed was for Qrow to fly off in a depressive funk. This was the _opposite_ of the lesson he wanted to instill.

“Qrow, this isn’t your fault,” James said, of clearer mind and lung. “Please, stay.”

James looked so earnest and reassuring, even soaked through with water dripping from his beard. Qrow hesitated, in front of the back door.

“I…”

“Stay,” Clover echoed, holding out his hand. The sprinklers stopped.

Qrow blinked, looking up at the ceiling. “Fuck. Did you…do that on purpose?”

Clover shrugged. “No more than you do, I suppose.”

Qrow shook his head with a laugh. He came back into the kitchen and squeezed his hair over the sink, a rueful look on his face. “Yeah, well, the alarm not going off was definitely me. I’m useless in the kitchen, Cloves. I told you.”

“You are _not,”_ Clover insisted.

James rubbed Qrow’s shoulders in reassurance. He saw the smaller man’s body relax under the attention. “It’s no matter, Qrow. The alarm was a fluke. And besides, you didn’t even _touch_ the oven. It couldn’t have been farther from your fault.”

Clover stiffened. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

James froze. “Nothing.”

There was a brief pause, and then James sighed. “It just seems that the directions were missing a key step. It’s perfectly fine, we can make an adjustment for future classes.”

“…and what adjustment would that be?”

“To empty the oven before turning it on, of course.”

Clover’s eyebrow twitched. “Excuse me?”

He felt a sort of…low-level rage building. The simulations had not prepared him for this. James backed off, sensing the spark threatening to reignite the kitchen all over again.

“Or…not. If you think…that is…”

“No, by all means,” Clover said, gesturing. “Go on, _sir_.”

James fidgeted. “No, you’re right. I’m…sorry for suggesting otherwise.”

Damn straight.

“I just…why would you put leftover pizza in the _oven?_ ” he asked, incredulous.

James shrugged. “What should I have done, leave the box on the counter?”

“Yes!” Qrow said.

“What?! No.” Clover gestured to the refrigerator. “You _put it away.”_

“The box doesn’t fit,” James protested. “And this clears up counter space.”

Qrow considered this, then nodded. “Yeah, he’s got a point, Cloves. You should have checked the oven before you turned it on.”

“You can _take it out of the box!”_ he exclaimed. “You can’t just leave food out, you have to refrigerate it.”

Qrow shrugged. “Why? It’s just pizza.”

James looked equally baffled. Clover couldn’t believe he’d been exchanging bodily fluids with two men who ate day-old ham.

“Am I taking crazy pills? The oven is for _baking_ , not for _storing_. This is how you get food poisoning! And…and _burn things!”_

James huffed. “Maybe it wouldn’t have burned so easily if it wasn’t covered in _pineapple!_ ”

Clover threw up his hands. It was clearly no use debating kitchen functionality with Little Lord Fauntleroy and a man who grew up cooking squirrels over a campfire.

James had, in a remarkably tender moment, once introduced both him and Qrow to his childhood chef. Jean-Michel was a gentle old man, one of the few living parental figures James had in this world. It was a touching and lovely afternoon up until the point the elderly man served them buttered noodles for lunch. Anyway, it wasn’t Clover’s fault that he thought the world-renowned chef was making a joke by asking James if he felt adventurous enough to try some _black pepper_ on his pasta.

It made him strangely grateful for his father’s self-sufficient kitchen wisdom. Even if the wisdom was usually ‘ _can’t go wrong with boiling.’_ At least the Colonel knew how to turn on an oven.

Case in point.

“Let’s just get this cleaned up,” Clover said, sighing. The cakes were ruined. And…possibly the floors. “I’ll get the mop.”

“Don’t bother, it’s too big of a job,” James said, tapping at his scroll. “I’ll call a clean-up crew.”

Clover had trashed the Ebi family kitchen dozens of times growing up, and never once had he even considered calling a clean-up crew. He _was_ the clean-up crew. Frankly, he kind of enjoyed cleaning. Qrow gave him a shrug of solidarity but didn’t seem inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was already half-undressed and on his way to the bedroom.

Well, at least they’d already had a shower. Sort of.

“Crazy pills,” Clover muttered, following Qrow into the attached bathroom. His partner tossed him a towel.

“Sorry, Cloves,” Qrow said, giving him an apologetic smile. “I, uh…know you were looking forward to this.”

Clover caught the towel neatly, rubbing the soft cotton through his hair to hide his disappointed expression. He _had_ been looking forward to this. And it had gone fine, really, up until the point where he’d gotten distracted by sex. Which wasn’t an unusual occurrence in this apartment, to be fair. It was just that he’d put so much _work_ into today, and now it was all…

What was he supposed to do, _give up?_

No. Not today.

Clover slung the towel around his neck, giving Qrow a determined look. “Get dressed,” he instructed, shimmying out of his own soaked outfit and rifling through James’s bottom drawer, where he and Qrow kept extra clothes. “We’re not done yet.”

Qrow looked vaguely like a drowned rat, shivering in his underwear. “You can’t be— _hey!”_

The other man leapt back, just barely avoiding getting towel-whipped. Clover grinned, dropping the towel to pull on a pair of boxers and some sweatpants, before making his way back into the kitchen. James raised an eyebrow, looking up from his scroll. Clover checked over the mess of the soaked counter. The cake batter was done for, but most of the raw ingredients were salvageable. He grabbed a few paper towels and started drying off his mixer.

They could still finish this.

They just needed a new kitchen.

* * *

This was fine. They should have done this at his place all along. After all, if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. And also drag your two boyfriends along to do it with you. At least he had some help carrying everything back to his place.

“This will be fun,” he said, determined to make it so.

Qrow shifted his grip on the box of equipment, causing at least five things that were not supposed to touch to clank together. “Cloves, this is sweet and all, but wouldn’t you rather just…call it? Instead of doing this whole thing over at your place?”

“Nonsense,” Clover said, as they came up on his apartment. “I can whip up a couple replacement cakes, and then you two can learn about the decorating. This will just illustrate exactly how easy this cake is to make. I know my kitchen’s a bit tight for multiple people, but I think you should both fit inside.”

Arms full, Clover hip-checked his scroll against the door panel to unlock it, then used his ass to push the handle down and bump the door open. James and Qrow stared at him, from the hall.

“What?” he asked, waiting for the two men to enter so he could let the door go. “Get in here.”

“I can think of another space that’s a bit tight for both of us,” Qrow said, waggling his eyebrows and slinking past Clover into the apartment.

“Hmm, that _would_ be fun,” James replied, giving him a dark look as he followed.

Clearly, all of Clover’s kitchen authority had washed away along with the cake batter. This was way beyond the bounds of the simulation. He had two slightly damp and extremely punchy boyfriends to deal with this time around.

“Later,” Clover said, letting the door swing shut and depositing his stand mixer on the counter with a grunt. “Look boys, I know it’s all fun and games when we’re in James’s kitchen, but mine is a sacred place. There is no sex in this room. None.”

That had been their downfall in the first place, really. Clover should have known not to confuse business with pleasure. And Clover’s Cake Corner was all business. Well, mostly. At least half.

Qrow plunked down the cardboard box he’d been carrying with a clatter of metal. Clover winced. He’d given the other man all his least breakable equipment to carry, but he had a sneaking suspicion that his balloon whisk had just popped a tine.

James started unpacking the ingredients. Gently, thank the Brothers. “Darling, if you don’t keep lube in your cabinets it’s fine. I brought some.”

“While I admire your preparation, no. Absolutely not. I have plenty of lube in the bedroom, where it belongs _in this apartment.”_

“Oh, this is rich, coming from you,” Qrow said, rolling his eyes. “Just last week you tried to jump me because I made toast.”

Hmm, that had been a good morning. Clover excelled at navigating sticky situations. He also didn’t believe in _trying_.

“Qrow it’s not my fault that you look sexy when you’re holding jam. _”_

Qrow retrieved a jar of jam from his refrigerator and leered at them. “Hey Jim, what’s the difference between jam and jelly?”

“I…honestly don’t know.”

“I can’t jelly my d—“

“ _Not in this room,”_ Clover said, in full Captain voice. He raised a finger in warning.

“So you don’t mind despoiling my kitchen, but yours is off-limits?” James asked, frowning. “I feel offended on behalf of my apartment. And frankly, the office of the Headmaster.”

The _apartment_ of the Headmaster would probably need to be bleached floor to ceiling when James was done with it, but that wasn’t Clover’s problem. It was, as far as his sex life went, a necessary sacrifice. What he _was_ concerned with was preserving the spiritual sanctity of the space he regularly used to bake cookies for Marrow.

“James,” he said, holding up an offset spatula. “If you can tell me what this is, and what it’s used for?”

James stared intently. “It’s…a knife? For some sort of fish?”

“ _Bzzzt!_ I rest my case. There’s nothing left to spoil in your kitchen except your old pizza. Grab a seat, boys. I’m just gonna bring us up to where we were, and then we can get to the fun part.”

“Honestly, Jim,” Qrow said, settling in at the minibar. “Why would he use a _fish knife_ to make a cake? Is that even a thing?”

“I have no clue, I just picked two things that I know Clover likes.”

“It _is_ a thing, but it’s used for cleaning fish, not cooking it.” Clover said, as he prepped the dry ingredients for the _second_ time. Finally, he was imparting some knowledge. “For the record, it’s an offset spatula, and it’s used for spreading things out without getting your knuckles dirty.”

“Ah,” James said, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Clover’s waist. “Usually when I want to spread things out with you, I make an effort to get my knuckles dirty.”

Clover sucked in a breath.

 _Be strong Clover,_ he thought. _This is a personal challenge. These two know exactly what buttons to push, and you will not give in. You WILL teach these hopeless kitchen disasters how to make a cake._

Even if his personal favorite tool was currently pressed against his backside.

“James,” he said, his voice wavering. “I believe I instructed you to take a seat.”

He chanced a look across the minibar. Qrow was draped over the counter, toying idly with his rings as he watched them. Well, that was a mistake.

Recipe. Focus on the recipe.

“But you also said a hands-on approach was the best way to learn,” James murmured. He tilted his head, nipping at the shell of Clover’s ear. His hands were certainly _on_ something, all right.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Qrow said. He leaned back and stretched, the hem of his shirt rising to expose pale skin and a smattering of dark hair. “Watching’s not bad. A guy could learn a lot this way, if the view’s good.”

Clover was busy trying to remember if he’d already added the baking soda or if he wanted James to fuck him instead. He leaned over the counter slightly, flushed.

“There is an order of operations,” he said, as a last attempt at retaining his control of the situation. Difficult, with James pawing at him like that. “Bake cake. Have sex. Eat cake in bed. Repeat sex. And if you two would just let me _demonstrate_ , you would see why it is the superior process. I don’t see why this has to be so hard.”

James’s hands trailed over his chest, pushing his shirt up to tease him. “You’re right, darling. It’s _very_ hard.”

Qrow smirked. “I’m a little confused about step two. Do you two think you can _demonstrate?_ ”

“Ah, that part I actually understood,” James said. “Why don’t I show you, and then you can take step four?”

Clover whimpered.

“We…are going to respect the sanctity of the kitchen,” he said, very carefully. The order of operations could stay intact. Clover was still in charge. 

He was just going to…speed up the process a bit. For reasons.

“So anyway…dry ingredients, wet ingredients. Mix together, blah blah blah. You two just did this, you know the drill. Qrow if you could, ah…help me prepare the pans?”

Qrow gave him a filthy look, as he buttered the cake pans. “Can you repeat the part about drilling?”

Clover’s eyes fluttered shut, as James kissed the base of his neck. He was half-pressed into the counter, the solid bulk of the man behind him pinning him in place. His left arm had been efficiently stirring the cake batter, but now he was just clutching the whisk for dear life.

“Qrow, please focus,” James murmured. “I believe section one-point-three emphasized the importance of preparation. What was it you said, darling?”

“You’ve gotta have your, uh…” Clover paused to remember what words were. His own, specifically. “…gotta have your vessel ready.”

Qrow slid the cake pans forward. “All lubed up.”

“Not yet, but give me five minutes,” James replied.

“Great,” Clover said, weakly. He divided the batter evenly among the three pans. So…sure, James and Qrow wouldn’t have their own hand-made cakes to share with the kids. But their batters had looked fine; there was likely little difference. And at least the cakes would be hand- _decorated._

If Clover could just get them baked before losing his shit, that is.

He yanked open the oven door, which creaked in protest. His apartment was older than James’s, but it still worked just fine. This was Atlas, after all. The technological center of Remnant.

So why hadn’t his oven preheated?

“Did you…” James started, cautiously. Clover was bent over in front of the open oven door, staring dumbly into the darkness. The cold, unyielding darkness.

“I _do not have to_ check the oven, because I am a _normal person_ who keeps food in the refrigerator and not-food in the cabinets,” Clover said, glancing up. “And nothing in my oven. I just…something’s wrong. This has been on for twenty minutes, and it’s still not hot.”

“It’s pretty hot, from where I’m standing,” Qrow supplied, behind them. While Clover felt genuine concern for the state of his oven, he couldn’t help wiggling his butt a little to show off. His boyfriend gave an appreciative whistle.

Okay, he could make this work. A little confidence boost always helped his semblance. Clover retrieved his lucky pin from the counter, gave it a sturdy flick, then turned to the malfunctioning oven. He closed his fist, threw a wink over his shoulder at James and Qrow, and delivered two sturdy bangs to the closed oven door.

There was an anticlimactic silence.

Clover opened the oven door and held his hand over the dust coils. They were as cold as the Atlas tundra.

“Huh,” he said, scratching his head as he stood. “That always works on the truck.”

And on the Manta door. The training room control panel. The food processor. His father’s ancient scroll that he insisted was still functional. And one time on a pickle jar that even Elm was having trouble with. A little love tap worked so well on James’s sore joints that Clover almost didn’t feel bad about being the source of most of them.

The man in question put an arm around him, reaching up to run metal fingers through the back of Clover’s hair. “I’m sorry, darling. But you were an excellent teacher. It really is a very simple cake, I’ll be sure to try it once the apartment’s back in order.”

Clover leaned into the touch, some of the fight going out of him. It was a nice sentiment, but he doubted either of them would bake again. They hadn’t even got to the _fun_ part, which was decorating and eating. All they’d done was mix batter and flirt. Some class.

Qrow slumped over the counter, a frown marring his perfect face. “Better do it without me, Jimmy. I’m pretty sure I broke both of your kitchens.”

Well, this… _this_ could not stand.

“Nuh-uh,” Clover said. He gathered the cake pans in his arms. “We’ve got _one more_ oven to try. James, can you grab the mixer? Pretty bird, we’re moving to your place.”

Qrow blinked. “I have an oven?”

James frowned. “… _does_ he have an oven?”

Clover would have been concerned that the General of Atlas didn’t know what was included in guest Huntsman quarters, except that James probably also didn’t know that the _Headmaster’s_ apartment had an oven in it until he moved in.

“You do, and we are using it,” Clover said. “Qrow, this is _not_ you. The cakes will be fine. This will be…this will be the _ultimate_ test. See? You don’t even need a nice kitchen like mine or James’s to bake a cake.”

They might have to run the mixer on the kitchen table, but that was no big deal. Clover had had a similarly tiny apartment when he was a new recruit, and he’d made three-course dinners out of it.

New plan. New kitchen.

This could still work.

* * *

It wasn’t a _long_ walk from Clover’s apartment to Qrow’s, but the path was paved with whining and temptation.

“Darling, we can always…are you _sure_ you don’t want to just go to bed? We could spend the night at your place. It’s been a long day, let me take care of you.”

Those last four words had a very specific meaning, where James Ironwood was concerned, and while any other day Clover would have leapt at the chance to revel in a little home turf advantage, today he had a _mission_. He hadn’t gotten to be Captain of the Ace Ops by abandoning a mission when there was still a decent hope.

“We have been through _two other_ kitchens and we have not yet successfully baked this cake. Nor have I gotten off. So no, James. No, I do not want to go to bed. Yes, this is the last attempt before I give up baking and sex and leap into the sea. No, you cannot speed it up by jumping me.”

Clover had had it. His kitchen confidence was shaken and he was sexually frustrated. They were going to bake this gods-damned cake if it killed him.

James and Qrow exchanged equally exhausted looks.

“Fine,” Qrow sighed, opening the door. “Come on in, I guess.”

The shapeshifter disappeared inside the apartment he’d been assigned. Clover followed, then immediately stopped dead in his tracks.

“Clover?” James said, behind him.

Clover nearly turned on his heel.

“What?” Qrow said. Clover heard an upsetting clatter as Qrow put all his nice equipment on…well, the floor. It was the only open space.

“Qrow, I love you but I simply cannot bake in this kitchen.”

James peered over his shoulder. “It can’t be that…oh, Qrow. Honestly.”

“I, uh…guess I don’t spend a lot of time here, huh?” Qrow said, glancing around.

For someone who came to Atlas with barely more than the clothes on his back, the compact studio was absolutely _strewn_ with belongings. The bed was unmade, for one. Blankets littered the floor. Clover recognized a few of his _own_ shirts and hoodies tossed over the chairs and tucked into the corners, which…explained some recent mysteries. Every dish in the unit seemed to be either in the sink or out on the few available surfaces. And there were little trinkets and knick-knacks and bits of jewelry strewn over the remaining table space.

“Qrow,” James said, concerned. “Do you…need help? As in, do you want me to send someone to help you?”

“I don’t need a robot maid going through my shit,” Qrow said, rolling his eyes. “Cloves, if this doesn’t work, we can just…”

“No, this will work,” Clover assured him, keeping his inner clean freak at bay. “I just…need to clean your kitchen a little bit.”

And maybe the rest of the apartment. Clover peered into the oven. It was a bit neglected, but the inside was empty and dust-free. And…small. Huh, he’d forgotten that about these efficiency units. They’d have to bake one cake at a time. He turned the oven on, letting it heat up while he formed an action plan.

“Okay,” he said, depositing the cakes on the two-burner stovetop. Which was blessedly clear, else Qrow might have set his _own_ apartment on fire long ago. “These are gonna take a while to bake. James, just put that mixer…anywhere, I guess. I’ll get to it later.”

“What can we do to help?” James asked, nudging a few dishes to the side so he could put the mixer on Qrow’s kitchen table.

Clover ran a hand through his hair, glancing around. Qrow was already yawning, his shoulders slumped in fatigue. James looked concerned, but if Clover knew him he’d been up since sunrise already. This part of the lesson wasn’t key.

“Just hang out for a bit, I’ve got this,” Clover said, with a reassuring smile. “You two can rest if you want, I’ll wake you up for the fun bit.”

Qrow just grunted, shuffling over to the bed and collapsing face-first in the tangle of blankets. James looked like he might say something, but Clover was already filling the sink with water so he could take care of the pile of dishes.

An hour and a half later, the last cake was almost ready to come out of the oven. It wasn’t the most even bake, given the small size and uneven heat of these little efficiency stoves, but Clover was satisfied with the job. Even better was the now-impeccable state of Qrow’s apartment, save the bed. Which was occupied.

Both his boyfriends were currently passed out in blissful sleep. Clover couldn’t blame them; it was nearly midnight. Qrow remained basically where he’d set down an hour and a half ago, face-down on the mattress. James, meanwhile, had made an attempt at helping to clean but had ultimately nodded off on the loveseat not long after Qrow.

Clover smiled, watching them sleep. There were both so cute. This whole lesson had all kind of gone off the rails. Maybe he would just…finish the cakes, himself. As a treat to his very patient boyfriends.

His scroll dinged, and he went to pull the last cake out. This one came out the best, once he’d figured out the oven’s hot spots. Proactive rotation of the pan had given him a strong, even rise, the cake’s top smooth and gently domed. He set it down on the stovetop to cool, and turned off the oven.

“…Cloves? You still up?”

Qrow was propped up in bed, crimson eyes peering at him in confusion.

“Almost done,” Clover said, stretching. He walked over to the bed, petting Qrow’s silky hair. The older man leaned into his hip, sighing. “Sorry I made you two stay up so late. I, uh…guess I got a bit obsessed with this whole idea.”

“…s’okay,” Qrow murmured, his eyes fluttering closed. “Night class is fun. You’re a pretty hot teacher.”

Clover chuckled, urging Qrow back into the sheets. “Go back to sleep, pretty bird. There will be cake in the morning.”

There was a tug on the front of his shirt, and Qrow groaned as Clover gently untangled his hands. “Nnngh, aren’t you coming?”

“In a bit,” Clover replied, pulling back with a yawn. “Just need to finish a couple things, okay?”

There was a familiar presence at his back, and then James was spinning him around and wrapping him in a hug. “All done? Oven’s off?”

“Almost, and yes,” Clover said, yawning again. Gods, he was tired. His mind was going a bit fuzzy, and James’s warm embrace wasn’t helping. “The cakes look good. Now we just need to…to wait. For them to cool. While I make the…the…”

Strong arms guided him over to the bed. Clover sat down on the Atlas-issue mattress, yawning again. He was _exhausted._ But his job wasn’t done. He whined in protest, as James pushed and Qrow pulled him down into the pillows.

“Not done yet…”

“Jimmy and I can take it from here,” Qrow said, his voice a low rumble. “What is it they say? Keep it simple, stupid. We’ll just consult section five-point-three.”

“Point-two,” Clover corrected, sighing as his shoes were tugged off. “We can still make the frosting, though. Just…just wake me up in twenty minutes. I can do it.”

He just needed to rest his eyes for a bit. And then they…they could do the fun part. Or he could do it for them, and there would be cake and frosting and it would be so nice and everyone would be happy and…

“You’ve done more than enough,” James said, caressing his face. Qrow snuggled up behind him, simultaneously holding him in place and wrapping around him like Clover was his personal heater. And _oh_ , it felt so nice. To let his eyes blink shut, safe between the two men he loved the most. Long fingers trailed through his hair, lulling him into a reluctant sleep.

“Don’t forget…to wake me up…” he mumbled, before drifting off entirely.

* * *

Clover woke feeling overheated, which was not unusual. What _was_ strange was that the heat wasn’t due to a certain long-limbed Huntsman clinging to him like a koala, but because he’d been buried in a mess of blankets and a beam of Solitas morning sun was hitting him directly in the face.

This was Qrow’s bed.

Clover threw off the covers, of which there were far more than standard issue, and sat up with a groan. There was a loud clatter and a curse behind him. He turned, blinking with bleary eyes into the studio’s kitchenette. It took a good few minutes for his brain to process the sight.

“Fuck, this fucking piece of…how the fuck do I…”

“Here, I think you have to click this part in.”

“That’s your solution to everything, huh? Stick something in…oh, I guess that works.”

Clover’s beloved stand mixer whirred to life. James and Qrow shared a look of triumph, where they were huddled over the tiny kitchen table.

“What…time is it?” Clover rasped, scrubbing his eyes again for good measure.

Both men jumped, whirling around to face the bed. James looked surprised. Qrow looked a bit sheepish.

“Did, uh…the noise wake you up?”

“The fact that you sleep with eight blankets woke me up,” Clover replied. “The noise is fine.”

Clover had been in the military nearly half his life. He could sleep through anything, except the heat.

“It’s fucking cold here!” Qrow said.

James came over to the bed, sitting next to him and leaning in to kiss the top of his head. “Did you get enough rest? It’s still pretty early. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

Clover blinked, the fog of sleep finally lifting from his mind. “Rest? I…shit! The cakes!”

“The cakes are fine,” James assured him. “Qrow and I are finishing them.”

“You and Qrow are…”

Clover trailed off, looking from James to Qrow, who was staring into the mixer with intense concentration. And then over to the stovetop, where he’d left the cakes last night. The three chocolate cakes were not only intact, but they’d been de-panned and presented on the three decorative plates they’d brought from his kitchen. And two, count it, _two_ of them were already decorated. One was sprinkled with powdered sugar, a bowl of whipped cream to the side for serving. One with the simple vanilla icing, the white glaze making pretty drips down the side of the dark chocolate cake. And the last one, awaiting decoration, had been expertly split in half so chocolate frosting could be added to the middle and top. Frosting that Clover presumed was on the mixer at the moment.

He hadn’t even shown them how to _use_ the mixer.

“How…?”

“The instructions were pretty clear,” Qrow said, glancing over with a smirk. “Some total nerd thought of everything when they were writing them.”

James brushed his hair back, tenderly. “We were just going to do the simple finishes, but you were still sleeping, so…”

“So Jimmy wanted to do the extra credit,” Qrow finished. He flicked the mixer off, then lifted the bowl. He tilted it towards them, and Clover was greeted with the sight of perfect, fluffy chocolate frosting. “What do you think, teach? Good enough for a pass?”

“I have never been more attracted to you two,” Clover blurted. Gods, if there was any frosting left over, he’d be happy to lick it off of Qrow’s...

Qrow snorted, then waggled his finger. “Cool it, lover boy. We’re not finished yet.”

“Patience,” James echoed, pushing him back down to the bed. “We’ve got this.”

Clover hummed in protest, as his boyfriends took the lead.

“But do you want me to—“

“No,” Qrow said.

“But do you need help decorating the—“

“I will tie you down,” James insisted.

“Is that supposed to be a deterrent?” he asked, winking at the older man. James shook his head, with a smile.

“Later,” he said. Cool metal trailed over his scalp, and Clover sighed in contentment. “Go back to sleep, darling. When you wake up there will be cake.”

Cake.

James and Qrow had finished the cakes. All on their own. The students had become the masters. Gods, that was hot. And horribly, enormously touching.

“And…”

“And sex, yeah yeah.” Qrow said. Clover could practically _hear_ the smirk.

Well. The order of operations clearly specified that they should have sex _before_ eating the cake. But Clover could make an exception, for such dedicated students. In fact, maybe they should _all_ have a rest between rounds. And he should make sure they ate something besides sugar, as well. Maybe some complex carbs. And water. Hydration was key.

After all, he had a _lot_ of gold stars to reward.

**Author's Note:**

> ...just know that I threw out like twice as many innuendos here


End file.
